Some Kids Make A Universe
by Mr. Miniike
Summary: Six weird teens. A highly anticipated game of a dubious nature. A few million unassuming meteors. An obnoxiously long, surprisingly family-friendly travesty written for both fans and non-fans.
1. Intro (Authors Notes)

**TL:DR If you're a Homestuck fan, you can probably skip this intro. If you're a non-Homestuck fan who wants as much to be left in mystery as possible, also skip this into. For anyone who wants to read extended authors notes for some reason, read on.**

**So what the crap is this?** This is _Some Kids Make a Universe_. It's a Homestuck fan fiction of the oldest, least original kind: a normal Sburb session.

**That means nothing to me.** Then you haven't read Homestuck evidently. Good. Read on. The description didn't lie. I've written this fanfiction with both Homestuck and non-Homestuck fans in mind. No prior knowledge is required, as it concerns none of the characters or plot points from the original comic. It only uses perhaps the comic's most creative lore aspect: the game Sburb.

**So what ARE the characters and plot points?** All entirely original. Six new 15-year-old kids, probably a little less than twenty acts by the end.

**Wait, it's not finished?** No. As of this intro (and by extension, first publication) the first ten acts have been extensively outlined, two written, and the rest loosely planned. I don't have as much time to write as I would like, so updates will be slow (at least until summer). But, given the size of the acts, they will be huge.

**How long will it be?** Like I said, a little less then twenty acts. Each act will be no more then 10,000 words long, most at least 6,000.

**Wait, WHAT?!** Yup. This is gonna be a long one.

**WHY?!** Because Sburb is long.

**1 FOUND a GREMMER/SPALLING MASTOOK!1!** Great. Tell me, I have an OCD for that kind of thing.

**Will this story be any good?** No idea. I have a bias towards my own work and this is my first attempt at writing something this big. Mistakes will be made. I hope it will at least be a learning experience.

**I JUST READ IT AND OH BOY DID IT SUCK!** If you have reason for thinking so, tell me. I'm doing this to improve my writing, and if it's terrible I could use some direction from less biased readers. Besides, I bash other fanfiction all the time. I could use a little humility.

**Is there any sexual content or romance/shipping?** Nope. There is a certain amount of teasing between some characters, but no one will actually get together by the end.

**Why there be no swears?** Personal reasons mostly, but also because I know some people don't read/like Homestuck because of the vulgarity.

**Violence?** Imps get bashed. War happens. God tiering is a rather grisly process.

**Where can I read Homestuck?** MS Paint Adventures. Have fun!

**What separates this from the five billion other fan-Sburb sessions? **You're the one who can write reviews, you tell me.

But seriously, I suppose just the fact that I'm going for a (almost) completely normal session and relying on fan service to a minimum. If I may toot my own horn for a second, I fancy myself decent at dialogue and am rather proud of these six new characters.

**I love you and want to hug you, will you write any more fan fictions?** Probably not, but if I gather enough dedicated reads I might.

Also, yes, I _will_ hug you.

**Is this as slow paced as the first three acts of Homestuck? **I can only hope not.

That's about it from your beloved author. Enjoy (or otherwise)!


	2. Act 1: The Pieces are Begrudingly Set

_**CLARA COVE: PESTER LAURA**_

virtuosoCollector [VC] began pestering momentHunter [MH].

VC: DID YOU GET IT

MH: Umm…

MH: Get what?

VC: THE GAME SILLY

VC: THE GAAAAAAMMEEE

MH: You know, caps are really annoying.

MH: No one likes them.

VC: I DOOOOOOOO

MH: Clara, stop typing like a tool.

MH: And yes, I have it.

MH: But only because you asked me to order it.

MH: It looks pretty crap to be honest.

MH: Obscure advertising didn't help.

MH: I mean, there was no trailer or anything.

MH: Just a few terrible posters of houses that anyone could have made in five minutes with Photoshop.

MH: And no computer.

VC: but it's a mystery!

VC: who knows what the premise is!

VC: or the gameplay!

VC: there's so much

VC: PooOooOOOoTttTteeeeNNnnntTTtttiiAaaallLLll

MH: CLARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

MH: WOULDN'T IT BE FuuUUuUUUUNNN

MH: IF EVERY ONE ON EAAAaaaAAAAarRRRTTtttTHHHhh

MH: TYYyYYYyPPEEddd LIKE THIS

VC: okay, fine

VC: i see your point

VC: but still, I can't help being excited :333

MH: Did you just portray your excitement in terms of a triple-jawed cat?

VC: yes!

VC: the cat is so happy that it couldn't contain it in only one jaw!

MH: That's…

MH: rather morbid for you, Clara.

VC: yeah, I guess it was

VC: sorry for that image

VC: but anyway

VC: will you play it with me? :D

MH: I suppose.

MH: But don't think I won't be voicing my complaints the whole time.

VC: THANK YOU  
>VC: You are literally the best Laura<p>

MH: Did you just compare me to every other Laura ever?

MH: I'm flattered.

MH: Even Laura Palmer?

VC: well she died right

VC: so you're at an advantage!

MH: Point taken.

MH: Anyway, there are two players, from what I can discern.

MH: One server, one client.

MH: I guess I'll be the server.

VC: thanks!

VC: let's play right now!

MH: Sorry, I have some stuff to do first.

MH: I told Jack I'd RP with him a bit.

MH: That should be fun. -_-

MH: Then I have some

MH: uh…

MH: chores

MH: I think.

VC: okay, just tell me when you're ready!

virtuosoCollector [VC] ceased pestering momentHunter [MH].

Clara leaned back in her chair. Her glasses slipped a bit with her sudden motion, which she quickly fixed. This would have allowed her room to come back into focus if her messy red hair wasn't now in the way. She brushed it aside and swung her chair around.

It had been just about forever since her room had been in some state resembling neatness. Next to her computer was her bed, under which more than one abandoned or broken instrument was stuffed, along with quite a lot of compositions that never saw the light of day. In a bit of irony, the boxes containing the composing software that had rendered the aforementioned writing and physical instruments mostly meaningless shared the same fate.

Along with her knack for music, plenty of potted plants covered her window sill (outside of which a small garden was visible), with books relating to them scattered on the floor, along with more papers. Most of these used to be stuffed in the bookcase across the room, but that had been filled with tapes, recordings and CDs of musical bootlegs. She had accumulated so many of these bootlegs that they actually started to even push out the proper, studio-produced CDs and cast recordings. To top off the state of untidiness, her walls were covered in posters for stage musicals, most of them original and very highly priced online. She had often wanted to stop with this meaningless collection, but addiction is a powerful thing.

Her first thought of eating up the time was to pull out one of her actual physical instruments, which she hadn't messed around with in a long time. She got up out of her chair and walked over to the corner of the room where the still-intact ones were stowed. She picked up a guitar, which was the closest one, and plucked away at it for a bit. It was mostly that frustrating borderline-white noise one generates constantly when trying to compose a melody, but eventually she got into the swing of things and plucked something that was at least playable.

This was interrupted by a sound from the computer. Clara dropped the guitar and ran over to see who was messaging her, crossing her fingers it was Laura, miraculously finishing a good RP and chores in record time. She was a dedicated person.

Unfortunately, it was only Susan. But Clara tried to muster up her traditional optimism for her anyway.

timelyOverseer [TO] began pestering virtuosoCollector [VC].

TO: Good morning Clara.

TO: Did you get the game?

VC: YES

VC: me and laura are gonna play it

VC: I can't WAAAaaaAAAIiiIiIIITTtttTT

TO: You didn't type like this for Laura, I hope?

VC: for a bit, but then she descended into Mark-level sarcasm

VC: it was a bitter reprimand

TO: She does love those.

TO: Anyway Clara, I'm pestering you because I have some information regarding the nature of the game.

TO: Josh has been decoding some cryptic early GameFAQS walkthroughs, and gathered some insights amidst the poorly written gibberish.

TO: For example, it employs connectivity to the real world in ways yet unknown to mankind.

TO: Josh thinks this means virtual reality. I'm inclined to agree.

TO: Also, many players may join into a single session by connecting in a circular server/client fashion.

TO: And it seems each player will be assigned a class by the game.

TO: Like a DnD arrangement, I guess.

VC: whoa okay that's cool and everything but what was that about a circle?

TO: It's a way for a bunch of people to play in the same session. It just has to been an even number because every player needs a client AND a server.

TO: Sounds unstable if you ask me.

VC: susan

VC: we have like four mutual pesterchum friends right?

TO: Meaning Laura, Josh, Jack and Mark I'm assuming?

VC: yeah!

VC: we could do the circly thing!

TO: "Circly"?

TO: Sorry Clara, my borderline OCD won't allow me to ignore your disregard for the English language much longer.

VC: "borderline"?

TO: Touché.

TO: But still, I don't think it's a very good idea.

VC: why not?

VC: everyone got the game

VC: it could be a big circle party or something!

VC: and then we could get all our dnd arrangements and virtual reality suits and whatever and destroy the final boss with a big circle maneuver!

TO: The circle was a metaphor.

TO: And anyway Clara, I don't really feel comfortable playing this game to begin with, much less make a potentially unstable six player session.

TO: What if it became glitched?

TO: What if it was rendered unbeatable by means of the virtual reality and the mass of people in it?

TO: What if the release from it was only a mechanism triggered by victory?

TO: WE WOULD BE TRAPPED IN VIRUAL REALITY CLARA!

TO: WITH OUR PHYSICAL BODIES ROTTING UNTIL WE FADED FROM CONCIOUSNESS  
>TO: AND NO WAY TO CONACT THE OUTSIDE WORLD!<p>

TO: some of these walkthroughs sound like they're not finished because the session didn't go very well!

TO: WHAT IF THEY'RE TRApped in virtual reality?!

TO: sorry caps lock

TO: that could be us clara!

TO: stuck in a glitched, dead-end, god-forsaken virtual world

TO: because you wanted to have a

TO: CIRCLE PARTY!?

VC: yaaaawwwwnnnn

VC: susan maybe your possible failure routine would have shaken me up when I first chatted with you

VC: but now?

VC: after all those times of things not going as wrong as you said they would?

VC: i almost take your hesitance as an omen

VC: of guaranteed success that is -_-

TO: Okay, I'm sorry.

TO: I got slightly pessimistic there.

TO: But still, the feeling is stronger this time.

TO: It won't go away!

TO: I seem almost endowed with the knowledge that this game will not end well.

TO: Or maybe that it won't start well?

TO: Something seems like it will go wrong.

TO: I can see it in my brain, like a fact, not an idea.

VC: that's nice, while you were typing I paired everyone up in a circle

VC: my server will be laura and my client will be jack

VC: your server will be josh

VC: I think mark will be your client

VC: I've got to tell jack!

VC: bye :D

virtuosoCollector [VC] ceased pestering timelyOverseer [TO].

TO: Clara wait!

TO: Crap.

_**LAURA MINDOX: ROLEPLAY**_

DC: *the knight draws his sword as he inches deeper into the overgrown grotto*

DC: *he recites the poem from the minstrel over and over in his head, contemplating its hidden meanings*

MH: *the street judge finally catches up with him*

MH: *she prepares to give him a good talking-to and beating over entering this forbidden area*

MH: *but she decides it would be a better idea to call her dragon*

DC: Wait, what?

DC: Pardon me Laura, but when was this "dragon" introduced, much less controlled by Miss Moment Hunter?

MH: ===OOC=== You're supposed to clarify when you're out of character, idiot!

MH: ===OOC=== Also, didn't you read her tragic backstory?

MH: ===OOC=== She's been through a lot of crap. It's only fair to give her an awesome dragon she picked up at some point in the past!

DC: ===OOC=== Pardon me again for forgetting my proper RP etiquette, but it's quite cumbersome to type the sign over and over.

MH: ===OOC=== Well suck it, buster!

DC: ===OOC=== That was quite unnecessary.

DC: ===OOC=== Anyway, I do hope this ends in some sort of Alliance between the Wandering Knight and Moment Hunter as they plunder the secrets of immortality from the land of Beltidus. Were your long term plans in line with this?

MH: ===OOC=== No, I was going to kill you're character's stupid, shiny, metallic, non-dragon killed arse.

MH: ===OOC=== Then he will be reincarnated as a better character who's not generic and doesn't use British terms with a straight face when everyone knows he's as stupidly American as the rest of us.

DC: I don't see why you have to turn this into an attack on me.

DC: Anyway, we don't seem to be doing enough world building in this session anyway.

DC: I quit.

MH: uggggghhhhh

MH: JACK. WHY ARE YOU SUCH A PUSHOVER ALL THE TIME.

MH: I was joking. Of course it was going to end in another alliance.

MH: That doesn't really change the fact that your characters always suck balls, but I wasn't going to go full OP and murder you!

MH: I'm above that!

DC: I don't typically enjoy making insulting jabs at people, but I do not envy Mark at this point.

MH: NO ONE EVNVIES VULIST, JERKOFF.

MH: Everyone PITIES Vulist.

DC: Actually, I'm referring to your pairing up in our upcoming game.

MH: Our what now?

DC: He will be your server player. Didn't Clara tell you?

MH: NO!

MH: I thought only two people could play this game!

DC: Apparently more than two may join into a single session by means of a complete connection of servers and clients.

DC: A "circle party", if you will.

DC: Clara paired everyone up, so it's looking like she is our unofficial leader.

DC: She's going to be my server, as a matter of fact.

DC: It almost makes up for the fact that I'm stuck with Zeno as my client.

MH: Okay, that was actually a nice little stab at Josh there. I'm impressed.

MH: And maybe a bunch of people playing isn't all that bad.

MH: BUT WHY WOULD SHE PUT ME WITH VULIST?

DC: "The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose".

DC: - The Merchant of Venice, Act I Scene III

DC: Besides, Mark is not all that bad.

DC: A little quirky, sure.

DC: But workable in a team context if you make sure he doesn't shrug off his responsibilities.

DC: Which he is fond of doing. u_u

MH: Okay, there are so many things wrong with those lines of text I don't even know where to start.

MH: First of all, yes, he IS all that bad.

MH: For a plethora of reasons.

MH: Second, there's "quirky" and then there's "batcrap insane".

MH: Third, he doesn't just "shrug off" his job, he is literally just aresponability.

MH: Which is a word I just made up. But still!

MH: Fourth, that quote had NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING!

MH: Lastly, "u_u" isn't even a proper emoticon. What the crap is it even supposed to be?

MH: I think I'll take the triple-jawed cat back after that.

DC: Triple-jawed cat?

MH: It's nothing.

MH: Anyway, I've got to go chew out Clara. Bye.

momentHunter [MH] ceased pestering deferentialCriminologist [DC].

Laura angrily closed the chat. She felt like she should probably take up some stress relief before attempting this conversation, but what had to be done had to be done.

momentHunter [MH] started pestering virtuosoCollector [VC].

MH: COVE.

MH: CHANGE MY SERVER PLAYER NOW.

VC: laura, it's so silly when you try to be intimidating by calling people by their last names.

VC: also, yeah, I thought there was someone I forgot to tell about my plan!

VC: a bit ironic it was you of all people

VC: hehehe :D

MH: NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR SMILIES.

MH: OR TRIPLE-JAWED CATS.

MH: OR ANYTHING ELSE.

MH: I CANNOT WORK WITH VULIST.

VC: yes you can!

VC: also, last names are stupid

VC: they're not cool Laura, stop using them

MH: CLARA, YOU MISERABLE EXUSE FOR AN UNOFFICAL LEADER.

MH: YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE.

VC: I drew straws for most of them actually

MH: Do you want me to suffer, Clara?

MH: What a sad excuse for a best friend.

VC: and now you're just rephrasing things.

VC: laura, you need to calm down

VC: punch a law book or something!

VC: it'll be fun!

VC: not as fun as the game though :D :D :D

MH: COVE YOU SACK OF CRAP

MH: I HAVE NEVER USED CAPS LOCK SO MUCH IN ONE CONVERSATION

MH: THINK ABOUT THAT

MH: THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME

VC: look laura, if you're just going to be grumpy, then just shut up!

VC: pester me when you're in a better mood!

virtuosoCollector [VC] ceased pestering momentHunter [MH].

MH: COOOOOOOVVVVVEEEE

Laura almost punched the monitor at this point, but decided against it. She closed the laptop and flung her chair around, staring at her room.

Laura kept her room mostly clean, with the aid of many bookcases stacked on her walls. Daunting texts covered her shelves on the topics of debate, law and fantasy. Her own art hung on most of the non-covered portions of her walls, mostly depicting her favorite roleplaying character, Moment Hunter. She was a ruthless street judge, sometimes seen as a government official, sometimes playing the part of the revolutionary, and sometimes just as a vigilante. Her role changes according to the situation, and she effortlessly fills all of them. She was mostly a self-insert physically, with her short, unsuspecting blonde hair and brown eyes that Laura shared with her, but otherwise she was everything Laura wanted to be rather then what she was. Laura created her for her first roleplaying session and used her almost constantly afterwards for any fantasy needs.

Most of her desk was covered in brochures, some for law schools, but mostly for colleges. The one thing she respected about Josh Zeno was that he was the only one of her circle of internet acquaintances who really cared about getting a decent education, though he was to pretentious to put as much sheer effort into searching as she did. Though it was a relief to be able to assign one redeeming factor to him, as opposed to…

At the moment that thought almost completed itself, the young man in question made her open her laptop and begin a predictably tedious conversation.

culticCaptain [CC] began pestering momentHunter [MH].

CC: oh

CC: mah grash gal

CC: guess who just got to EVENTUALLY SERVE by THE WOMAN HERSELF

MH: Look Vulist, I don't have time to deal with your BS until we play this stupid game.

MH: And, I just expended all my Caps Lock juice on Clara, ironically enough.

MH: So let me make this clear:

MH: YOU. WILL. COOPERATE.

CC: whoa laura it was never my plan to not cooperate

CC: that would just make things harder on both of us

CC: I just wanted to tell you

CC: that I am SO EXCITED

CC: to serve by the PINNICLE OF HUE-MANNETEE

CC: with your convincing debates

CC: and your non-laughable academic obsessions

CC: and even your grammar

CC: plus this game looks pretty cool

CC: like not crappy or anything

CC: so it's all just combining into one big

CC: HOPY

CC: FRACKING

CC: CREPE

MH: Mark, I can assure you as your client player I can make this game a misery for you.

MH: I will give you so many responsibilities.

MH: SO. MANY.

CC: I know when you're bluffing actually

CC: like when not to believe you

CC: OMG ISN'T IT FUNNY THAT LIE IS THE SECOND SLLYABLE IN BELIEVE

MH: You will do all the work yourself.

MH: I will only do what's required, which will not be much.

MH: I will place your tools miles apart from each other.

MH: I will sit around being a lazy bum.

MH: And I will savor all your tears and pleas for help.

CC: WHOAWHOAWHOAWHOA

CC: Okay, on the off-chance that you're actually being serious, you will not do any of the above things.

CC: Ever. At any point in time.

CC: Because as much as I would love that, it would waste time with Susan.

MH: Susan?

CC: My server player, crapface.

MH: Really? "Crapface"? You're more sarcastic then that.

MH: You could have at least said "non-crapface".

CC: I can be the mature person in the situation and just give an outright insult.

CC: UNLIKE YOU, I NOTICED.

MH: Okay, as this is actually pretty amusing.

MH: I expected another painful, awful conversation as usual. And I kind of got it.

MH: But it's great to see the lengths you will go to be defensive.

MH: Like typing properly, for instance.

CC: What are you talking about?

CC: Oh.

CC: I mean

CC: FRAAAAAGGG GURL

CC: u really needs to chill

CC: I've got me some sweet mountain duah up in here

CC: want some while we discuss our OT3s in detail?

MH: Okay, I'm leaving before this gets to be a regular conversation.

MH: Bye, non-crapface.

momentHunter [MH] ceased pestering culticCaptain [CC].

_**JOSH ZENO: CHEW OUT SUSAN**_

clockworkObserver [CO] began pestering timelyOverseer [TO].

CO: It has recently come to my attention that you have passed on certain information I confided in you to another, who proceeded to use it to systematize a borderline machination of a plan which drags us and a few other mutual "friends" into this game.

CO: Is there an excuse for this?

TO: Well, I didn't think sharing it with Clara would be all THAT disastrous.

TO: Besides, I think I might have been overreacting about the unstable session.

TO: I'm sure we'll look back on this game and just laugh at all the good times.

CO: Susan, there is absolutely NO WAY you think that.

CO: You're too smart for that.

CO: The nature of this game already seems dubious to me.

CO: These walkthroughs seem idiosyncratic enough to anyone with a normal brain.

CO: And I'm not speaking hyperboliclly.

CO: They clearly gush from insane and desperate minds which I'm sure were lowly before the game, but still adequately functional.

CO: There is no probability of these guides being written by a person with a brain of those latter qualities.

CO: Clearly, the game has caused them to undergo a fluctuation or even outright transformation in mind.

CO: That's really not a road I would like to traverse.

CO: Metaphorically speaking.

TO: Look Josh, it's pointless to try to change Clara's mind at this point.

TO: I tried. I really did!

TO: But I think we're just being paranoid.

CO: Susan, you of all people should know that all these things are a bit more than simply tenable.

CO: Apart from the mind degradation, there is a clear trepidation in their manner of writing.

CO: Clearly they did not have time to transcribe everything.

CO: And I have a feeling what they could not write included the source of danger that put them in the state of panic in the first place.

CO: I'm guessing it was their degraded sanity that led them away from explaining the fountainhead of it all.

TO: Please just stop!

TO: I'm getting really sick of all this!

CO: You don't have to hide your obvious state of hysteria, Susan.

CO: This plan will not work for numerous reasons.

CO: Not the least of which being that you and I are the only two that are too intelligent for it.

CO: You're doing yourself a discourtesy, even an offense, by pretending to be fine with it.

CO: Or are you really not all that smart?  
>CO: Do I have false faith in you, Susan?<p>

CO: Have you joined the bandwagon of circle partiers?

timelyOverseer [TO] ceased pestering clockworkObserver [CO].

Josh almost typed a few more lines in hope she would see them later, but was to frustrated for them to be satisfyingly coherent. He decided to pass the time by doing what he usually did to pass the time, which was work on one of his projects. He begrudgingly closed Pesterchum and loaded the latest draft of his artistic magnum opus in a game engine. He sighed and set to write a few more lines of code.

He didn't feel the need to examine his room, because he had already done so many times. He, like many of his friends, he noticed, had a passion for a specific type of literature. Unfortunately, his preference essentially boiled down to anything dense and daunting, meaning he couldn't fit nearly as many books on his shelves as he'd like too. Mostly he just sighed and dealt with it, but couldn't help but think that it was unfair for someone of his intellectual caliber to not be able to keep an exceptionally large library. At least, not to the extent he wanted.

He had a television and DVD player opposite his bed. Under his bed was a stash of art house and experimental films. Nothing short of _Primer_ was welcome in his collection, which (fortunately for him, he supposed) meant that his DVD collection was significantly smaller than his book collection, but it was still an impressive reflection of fifteen years of mental development. At least, that's what he thought.

The least dense books in his collection were programming manuals. A few years ago he mastered all the basic languages and set his eyes on the hopelessly obscure, terribly unworkable, often jokingly made coding systems the programming world had to offer. He often condensed entire games in a giant paragraph of unreadable, unchangeable, and unworkable code.

Getting the hang of this process, in his opinion, actually increased the quality of his games. He had made no less than twenty of them, all having deep personal and philosophical meanings invisible to the untrained eye. He had gained a niche following of people who thought they understood them, but they only really existed so he could smirk at their cute attempts at guessing.

But sometimes he actually took advantage of their predictability for the sake of his art. For example, in his last game, _Missive_, the player (represented by a black dot) is tasked with following a twisty, windy path. Nothing would occur until about fifteen minutes of following this path, when the end was reached. Everyone immediately speculated this game represented that the black dot represented the dark state of humanity, and the winding path showed its lack of direction in development. The fact that it ends at all could be taken as a warning that our time is fleeting and we're really going nowhere.

They were able to interpret this much, but they had missed out on the crucial factor that the path the dot follows actually traces cursive letters very slowly. When completely blacked out and viewed from above, the path reads "DO SOMETHING". Art is useless if it does not call the viewer to action regarding its message. Unfortunately, humanity is just too stupid to notice. Thus, the niche following his games failed to notice, and the message was reinforced. Of course, it was reinforced to no one but Josh. But that's just how he liked it.

The last thing really notable about his room was some paintings of Josh's hanging on the walls. They didn't clutter them, but there were quite a few. They mostly depicted landscapes, some of mythical worlds from his books or movies, but most of his own invention.

He proceeded to write a few blocks of code for his new game, which was designed to be just as devious and pessimistic as the last one, though it had no title. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get much work done before he was pestered by the miserable coward. At least, that's what he liked to call him since they first were introduced via the internet at age thirteen. Though it was only two years ago, he shuddered to think of it. It was a time when he thought _The Tree of Life_ would never be topped, blissfully unaware of the existence of _Eraserhead_. If he came up with the name now, it would probably be along the lines of "the crestfallen caitiff". He sighed, which he seemed to be doing a lot today, and answered.

deferentialCriminologist [DC] began pestering clockworkObserver [CO].

DC: I hope I'm not intruding on your privacy, but I was informed that you had some information about the game we are about to take part in.

DC: I was wondering if it would be permissible to share this information with an upcoming server player of yours.

CO: That's wonderful, Jack.

CO: Also, no.

DC: Oh.

DC: Is that all?

CO: That, and the reason you're my server player is probably because Clara hates me.

DC: I didn't sense any malicious intent when Miss Cove set us up.

DC: Maybe a lack of forethought at most.

CO: Thanks. That's extremely contributive of you.

CO: To acknowledge that, I mean.

DC: I'm glad you're back to using you're smart words.

DC: But anyway, why is it better that I am uninformed in regards to this?

CO: It's mostly because I loathe you.

DC: Josh, even you aren't normally this irate.

DC: Is something wrong?

CO: NOTHING IS WRONG

DC: Is that…caps lock?

DC: My, Josh, is it really that bad?

CO: Okay, fine.

CO: Susan is

CO: not being

CO: smart.

DC: I find that hard to imagine.

DC: Miss Adler is only rivaled by yourself, I would imagine, in raw brain activity.

CO: What I meant was, she actually subscribed to Clara's disastrous plan that could render victory unattainable in this game.

DC: The infamous "circle party"?

CO: No one with any practical intelligence could asseverate such a precarious maneuver with the structure of the game.

CO: It's clear that this is not how it is meant to be played.

CO: She should know more than anyone else!

CO: But she continues to repudiate my honest rhetoric, and for lack of a better term, common sense.

CO: She's usually the first to spot and acknowledge problems. Why can't she now?

CO: Her inconstancy in this manner honestly disheartens me.

DC: I imagine you told her all this in the most courteous and civil manner possible.

DC: As opposed to exploiting her pessimism and fear to serve your own ends.

DC: Am I correct?

CO: Yes, quite thoroughly.

DC: That's not how it looked in the text file she sent me.

CO: SHE DID WHAT?!11?!/?/?/!1

DC: Yes.

DC: I am quite simply appalled by your lack of tact.

DC: Your philosophy appears to be "I will speak daggers to her, but use none".

DC: -Hamlet, Act III Scene II

CO: Why would she run to YOU, of all people?

CO: She's not dumb. She's just being stupid right now.

CO: I suppose fleeing to the protection of Jack Grail was probably a side effect.

DC: I'm not here to hold this in your face.

DC: I'm here as a mediator.

CO: Well, consider your arbitration meaningless.

DC: Just contact her again.

DC: Agree with the plan and forget about it.

DC: If it does end up being a disaster, you may also want to refrain from any "I told you so".

DC: Or whatever pretentious revision you would make to it.

CO:

CO:

CO:

DC: Don't you have anything left to type?

CO: Fine.

CO: I will pursue this endeavor to whatever extent I can.

DC: Good.

DC: I expect you two to be mutually admissible to each other the next time I receive news of your correspondence.

CO: Don't bet bottom dollar on it.

DC: Umm, Josh?

CO: What?

CO: What else could you conceivably burden me with?

DC: You didn't call me a miserable coward yet.

DC: You usually do so at least once in every one of our conversations.

CO: Request declined, miserable coward.

clockworkObserver [CO] ceased pestering deferentialCriminologist [DC].

_**JACK GRAIL: ENTER**_

Jack stared at the box the disc came in as the installer finished its last few steps without any manual input. It was quite minimalistic for such a highly anticipated game. Just a black case with a green house on it, and a single word, the game's title, printed in green across the bottom: _SBURB_.

It was a strange name, to be sure. Not a word of any meaning he could find. He looked up, adjusting his glasses in the process. The installer had finished, and he already had an invitation. It was, predictably, from one virtuosoCollector. He accepted, and connected with his Server over Pesterchum while the game loaded.

deferentialCriminologist [DC] began pestering virtuosoCollector [VC].

DC: So, are you ready, my dear miss?

VC: OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

VC: YEEEEESSSSS

DC: I do hope most of your typing will be more discernable then this?

VC: of course!

VC: also, isn't this music awesome?

DC: What music?

VC: the loading screen music silly!

VC: it's good for a headbop

VC: i am headboping

DC: Sorry, I had my computer muted.

DC: It is rather catchy.

After a while, the loading screen faded to black, and the SBURB logo popped up.

And that was it. Jack clicked around, but there was nothing interactive on the screen. The window could not be closed either.

DC: Sorry, it appears something must be wrong with my computer or copy of the game.

DC: Nothing is loading.

VC: jack, is this your room?

DC: What?

VC: there's this room on my screen.

VC: it's a lot tidier then mine! :P

VC: it has maps and posters and books and cds and a coffee maker and a guy with black hair and glasses staring at his computer

VC: is that

VC: YOU?! :O

DC: that

DC: what

DC: It does sound

DC: similar

DC: Is he

DC: getting up out of his chair and turning around?

VC: yes!

VC: jack

VC: OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

VC: THIS IS AMAZING :D :D :D :D

VC: and I have all these buttons

VC: i don't know what they do though!

DC: can you…

DC: read anything?

VC: kind of

VC: there's some papers on your desk

VC: what are they?

VC: oh, is that poetry?

Immediately Jack gave up all sense of logic telling him this was impossible and grabbed the papers, stuffing them into a drawer.

VC: oh sorry

VC: was that private?

DC:

DC:

DC:

DC: yes

VC: oh

VC: here let me zoom in

VC: are all these paintings and sculptures in the closet private too?

DC: YES  
>DC: YES<br>DC: YES  
>VC: okay, sheesh, I'm zooming out!<p>

Jack turned around, almost trembling. He quickly examined his room for anything she might not have seen yet he could hide or would need to hide.

There wasn't much. Of course, there was his extensive Shakespeare collection, stacked up in his bookshelves, but that wasn't really private. He quoted Shakespeare with enough regularity for that to not be a secret. He had a number of globes and his walls had historical and normal maps all over them, but he had at times enthused about both history and travel, so that was fine. Clara had already discovered his hobby of art and poetry, but if he hid his papers well enough she might not discover he was also an amateur playwright.

He DID have a coffee maker and quite a lot of flavors on a table by his bed, but that seemed only a minor eccentricity when compared to his work in the fine arts. He breathed a sigh of relief he never hung any of his own paintings in his room.

VC: lol, you like saxon?

DC: What are you talking about?

VC: woah jack, i'm not saying you can't like the music you like!

VC: but saxon seems a bit

VC: i dunno

VC: unlike you

To his inevitable horror, he turned around and saw a number of posters for mostly British, unanimously emo and Gothic bands. Most prominently displayed was one for one William Saxon, more commonly referred to as "the joke of the internet."

It was pointless to take these posters down now, so he just sighed and bore it. But he did grab a CD and hide it in his pocket as quickly as he could.

DC: it

DC: was a phase

VC: no jack, it's totally fine! really

VC: anyway, I dropped some stuff in your living room

VC: i hope that's cool

Jack ran out of his room, down the hall, and into his formerly mostly empty living room. Now in it were three huge devices.

The first was a huge platform with a strange pattern of triangles on it. Connected to the platform was a long, folded metal arm with what looked like a scanner or laser pointer on the end, as well as a small podium.

The second looked like a big metal slab on the bottom, then a smaller one on top with four small displays, one in each direction. On top of that was a small tube with a lid. A small wheel was next to the lid.

The third was perhaps the strangest of all. It was a bit like a sewing machine, but much taller and thinner. There were two clamps clearly meant to hold something in place below a laser looking contraption.

There was something else in front of his fireplace: a card. It had a picture of some kind of disc on it, but was punched full of small, rectangular holes.

Jack ran back to his computer in his room.

VC: aren't they cool?

DC: how

DC: did you do that

VC: do what?

DC: put those there

VC: oh, i click this button. it opened up a panel with a whole bunch of stuff!

VC: but i couldn't "deploy" most of it. there's a price next to them.

VC: I think to use them we need to collect these little crystal things

VC: they kind of look like fruit gushers, i guess?

DC: okay…

DC: but…

DC: What are they?

VC: the big platform thing is called the "Alchemiter"

VC: the tube thing is called the "Cruxtruder"

VC: the sewing machine thing is called the "Totem Lathe"

VC: and the card is just called the "Pre-Punched Card"

DC: So

DC: What do I do with them?

VC: I think we should try to open the Cruxtruder

VC: here's an axe i found in the shed next to your house!

Jack literally shrieked as an axe floated through his wall and landed in front of him. He quickly tried to collect himself before picking it up.

VC: did i mention i can click on things to move them?

VC: because i can

VC: also, you have a nice scream, jack!

DC: I don't know if I would classify it as a "scream".

DC: um

DC: anyway

DC: What do I do with this?

VC: smack that tube! i wanna see inside it!

Still recovering from his shock, Jack wandered over to the contraption apparently called a "Cruxtruder". He tried to turn the wheel, but it appeared to be stuck. He lifted the axe and brought it down about six times, but it didn't budge. He instead decided to nudge it in the little crack he WAS able to open with the wheel, and then he flipped the lid off with relative ease.

Two things shot out. One was a pale blue cylinder of what looked like a non-transparent glass. The other terrified Jack to no end once again. It was a strange floating, blinking pale blue ball, coming right in his direction. He lost his sense of logic once again, dropped the axe, and threw the first thing his trembling hands touched.

Unfortunately, it was the Saxon CD in his pocket.

When the CD hit the ball, there was a blinding flash. When it cleared, the ball completely changed.

It was still ball-like in form, but it had taken on an uncanny resemblance to William Saxon, complete with red velvet-lined robe. Or at least it would have been red velvet if it wasn't as pale blue as the rest of him.

Jack ran to his room in complete cowardice. He franticly scurried to his computer.

VC: jack…

VC: what is that thing, and why does it look like william saxon

DC: I HAVE NO IDEA  
>DC: CLARA PLEASE HELP ME<p>

VC: i don't think he's going to be an issue, jack

VC: the countdown might be though

DC: THE WHAT

He didn't even wait for her response. He just ran back to the living room. Sure enough, each of the displays on the Cruxtruder had lit up, and displayed a timer ticking down from five minutes.

He was inclined to panic immediately, but then noticed that the glassy cylinder that shot out of the Cruxtruder would fit rather nicely into the clamps of the "Totem Lathe". He picked it up and cautiously put it there. He jumped back when the clamps activated, but it did cause a slot to pop out of the side of the machine. He turned around, looking for something that would fit inside, and saw the Pre-Punched Card, still lying on the floor. Without even thinking at this point, he grabbed the card and shoved it inside. The machine suddenly activated, causing the laser-scanner contraption to sprout spikes. The cylinder began to spin in its clamps, and the spikes lowered themselves for a few seconds. It wasn't long, but it was enough to completely reshape the cylinder, adding strange curves and grooves. The spikes retracted and the cylinder was released from its clamps. Jack picked it up.

At this point, he was almost out of ideas, when he heard a strange noise. He looked up, and with another jolt, he saw the Saxon-looking ball floating around the "Alchemiter". He realized it wasn't hostile, but still approached it with caution. He eventually noticed that the cylinder would fit nicely on the podium, so he placed it there. Once again, he jumped back as the giant metal arm unfolded and swung around. It used its laser pointer to scan the cylinder and then folded up again. Then, out of nowhere, a pale blue mass appeared on the Alchemiter platform. It morphed into a giant, pale blue cabinet that appeared to be made of the same substance as the cylinder. It opened, and was completely empty except for a disc which looked identical to the one on the Pre-Punched Card. He picked it up, still confused. He then turned around and saw that the timer had ticked down to two minutes. With no other ideas, he ran back to his room. He examined the buildup of Clara's messages on the screen.

VC: JAAAACK

VC: OMGOMGOMG D: D: D:

VC: JACK COME BACK TO THE COMPUTER  
>VC: JACK STOP MESSING AROUND!<p>

VC: JACK THERE'S A METEOR COMING AT YOUR HOUSE!  
>VC: A BIG FIREY ONE!<br>VC: JACK I'M NOT JOKING!  
>VC: LOOK OUT THE WINDOW!<br>VC: D:

Jack rushed to the window, disc in hand. Looking up at what was otherwise a peaceful night sky, there was a giant flaming piece of rock hurtling right in his direction. It was uncomfortably close. He ran back to the computer.

DC: CLARA WHAT DO I DO

DC: IS THIS PART OF THE GAME

VC: oh thank goodness!

VC: yes, i think it is! D:

VC: use that CD you made!

DC: HOW?

VC: put it in your CD player!

VC: i don't know!

For lack of any other options, Jack ran to his CD player. It stubbornly refused to open. His immediate thought was the timer in the living room and it's likely connection to the meteor. His thoughts were consumed with it ticking down…down…down…

The player opened. He put in the disc, closed it, and hit "Play".

A huge explosion immediately followed.

**END OF ACT 1**


	3. Act 2: The Stage is Revealed

_**CLARA: ENTER**_

virtuosoCollector [VC] began pestering momentHunter [MH].

VC: OMGOMGOMG D:

MH: Oh, are you ready to play this stupid game then, Clara?

VC: LAURA

VC: i just played it with jack

VC: and when you're the server you get all these weird buttons

VC: and you drop these things in the client's house!

VC: i saw jack!

VC: his house is much cleaner than mine

VC: i dropped all these weird things and then jack messed around with them

VC: and he made this weird blue cd

VC: and then he put it in the CD player

VC: oh yeah, and there was also a weird ball that he threw the cd in

VC: and now it's a saxon ball i think

VC: and also there was A METEOR

VC: and i thought he was gonna die!

VC: and then there was a big explosion

VC: and i thought the meteor touched down! D:

VC: but then i saw him again!

VC: he was passed out, and in this weird foggy place!

VC: i think that's the virtual reality

VC: only it's like

VC: REEAAAALL!

VC: so i need to connect to you RIGHT NOW and do all the things he did

VC: so i can go to the foggy place and save him!

MH: ...

MH: I didn't understand a word of that.

MH: Also, what's a "Saxon ball"?

VC: DO YOU HAVE THE GAME INSTALLED?!

MH: Yes.

VC: CONNECT TO ME  
>VC: RIGHT NOW!<p>

MH: Okay, fine.

Clara quickly inserted the client application into her computer, which was on a separate disc. She paced frantically around the room in a fit of hysterics until finally hearing the familiar "incoming message" sound. She ran back to the computer.

MH: CLARA.

MH: WHAT.

MH: THE.

MH: CRAP.

MH: IS.

MH: THIS.

VC: it's the game!

VC: can you see me?

MH: That's…

MH: you?

VC: you can type more than one word per line you know

VC: also, yes

MH: But…

MH: How is that possible?

VC: i don't know

VC: but it's not important right now!

VC: we need to help jack!

MH: Okay…

MH: How?

VC: do you see the deploy button?

MH: The what?

VC: just mouse over those buttons at the top of the screen until you find it

MH: Okay, I clicked it.

MH: What's all this?

VC: stuff

VC: we need it

Clara proceeded to recount, the best she could, what Jack did with the things she deployed. It was an informative and exciting conversation.

MH: That's…

MH: An awful lot to take in Clara.

MH: But okay, I've deployed the stuff on your balcony.

MH: There's a lot of space up there.

VC: okay, thanks 3

Clara ran from her room, up the stairs, down the hall and on to her balcony overlooking her garden. The Alchemiter, Totem Lathe, Pre-Punched Card and Cruxtruder were all there. The Pre-Punched card didn't have a picture of a disc on it, instead a dark pink flag took up its face. She looked up at the sky, and sure enough, there was a meteor clearly visible in the sky. In fact, there were several, heading to different locations. Clara didn't stall at this though, she went straight to work.

She ran back to her room and searched for something to pry open the Cruxtruder, as well as something to throw into the glowing ball. She heard another message incoming from her computer.

MH: What are you doing?

VC: i need to open the Cruxtruder

VC: i need plyers or something

MH: How about that crossbow?

VC: my novelty crossbow?

MH: If that's what you call it.

VC: i like that crossbow!

VC: but i guess it never worked

VC: so okay

VC: do i need to throw a cd in the ball like jack?

MH: I think you could probably throw in anything.

VC: oh good, i don't want to give up a cd

VC: what should i throw in

MH: Clara, if this isn't complete bull, you could use that thing to bring something to life!

MH: Have some imagination!

VC: OOOOOOOHHH

VC: i know what to do now!

Clara grabbed the crossbow from her wall and scanned her fanart. She eventually grabbed some Enjoras fanart.

MH: Oh heck no.

MH: No.

MH: Clara, you are not prototyping your crappy Les Mis fanart.

MH: What is up with your crush on Ramin Karimloo anyway?

MH: Oh, you're not at the computer.

MH: Of course.

Clara quickly pried the Cruxtruder open. Again, out flew a floating ball and a cylinder, but these were a dark pink. She grabbed the cylinder and Pre-Punched Card and shoved them into their respective spots in the Totem Lathe. The cylinder was carved in identical fashion to Jack's. She placed it on the Alchemiter, the arm sprung around, and a dark pink mass appeared. It shaped itself into a small, four foot high ship with a flag on it. The flag proceed to snap and fall at Clara's feet. Then she remembered the fanart. She gave it a good toss at the ball, which was following her around. There was a flash and a screech, and when the ball came back into view it was shaped much like Jack's "Saxon Ball", but instead bore a resemblance to, much to Clara's delight, Ramin Karimloo. She ran up to it.

"Hi, Ramin Ball! Can I call you that?"

The ball squeaked several glitchy sounds.

"Oh. I guess you can't sing then? Darn it! Oh well." Clara said. The ball lifted its newfound hands and motioned toward the Cruxtruder. "What is it?" Clara asked before turning. She quickly found that not only was the meteor much closer than it had been, her timer was down to three minutes. Panicking, she grabbed the flag and smashed it repeatedly to the ground, but to no avail. She ran back to her room.

MH: CLARA, I COULD HAVE SWORN THE METEOR JUST TELEPORTED.

VC: me too! D:

VC: how do i destroy this flag?

VC: i think that's what i need to do

MH: I don't know, how do you destroy flags?

VC: you…

VC: BURN THEM!

VC: of course!

VC: i'll run to my fireplace

MH: WAIT!

MH: There's a grating on your fireplace!

VC: really?

VC: the locked one?

MH: Yes!

VC: NOOO D: D: D:

VC: wait, is the chimney clear?!

MH: Let me scroll up.

MH: Yes!

MH: Hurry up, you have like a minute and a half!

Clara ran through her house, which was rather large, through a multitude of halls and turns. She ran up the stairs to the attic. He panic increased with every second ticking down as she pushed aside the dusty bookshelf from the window, stirring up a large cloud and violently coughing in the process. She climbed out the window, hanging on the sides for dear life, before getting a foothold on a small jut. She pulled herself up to the roof and scrambled to the chimney. The combination of smoke and the proximity with the fiery meteor, just seconds away, made her sweat enough to turn a peninsula into an island. She almost passed out as she dropped the stubborn pink crystal flag down the chute. She clutched the chimney and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was staring directly at the brick chimney. She slowly stood up, rubbing her eyes. When her vision cleared, her vision was unmistakable.

Her house was on a cloud.

_**JACK: WAKE UP**_

Jack came to in his room, clutching a Shakespeare bust. When he realized he was holding it distressingly close, he pushed it away a bit, but still gripped it. He had just woken up from what he assumed was an extremely odd and largely terrifying dream involving strange machines, a CD player, a meteor, and a blue ghost strongly resembling William Saxon staring right at him from across the room.

Jacks instincts took over once again. When he came back into full consciousness a few seconds later, the bust was gone and he was grabbing at nothing. He slowly got up to his feet and dusted himself off (even though there was no dust on him). He slowly tiptoed towards the open door and stepped out. A feeling of relief washed over him as the ghostly figure was nowhere to be seen. But just to be sure that it was truly all a dream he casually walked to the living room.

He was greeted not only by several large machines, but the blue ghost.

It looked different then the last time he spotted it, or even before the CD player mishap. Instead of a ball, it took on more of a cartoonish spirit figure with the lower half of its body thinning into a wispy tail. It still wore Saxon's gothic attire, complete with eyeliner and pale blue face paint (it would have been white, but his newfound blue-ness took over). Aside from that, the face had completely changed. The mustache, the frill, the reshaped hair…

"Err…" Jack murmured, gathering up his strength and inching towards the figure, "…excuse me…umm…sir?…Are you…able to communicate? And if so, would you mind telling me why you look so much like William Shakespeare?" His shakiness was hard to disguise. The figure stared intently at him. Jack slowly turned, about to give up and write the strange specter off.

"'Brevity is the soul of wit.' Hamlet, Act II, Scene II. You know what I'm sayin', mah spirit bro?"

Jack quickly turned back around. The ghost spoke in a strange, echoic voice. It's accent, given the two people it resembled, was partly of the southern British variety and partly of some other accent Jack couldn't make out. His demeanor and word choice, on the other hand, made no sense at all.

"Wait, so you…can talk?" he hastily spoke.

"Don't be such an ASSUMER, man. Don't ya know what hapn'd to the Roms and Juels? They ASSUMED too many assumptions. I was MAKIN' FUN of people like that, can't ya tell? But everyone took it SO SERIOUSLY. Like my hit single, 'Don't Assume'? Except that was never a hit single, bra. It never happened. It's still spinnin' round in my head…man." The phantom stumbled through his words. "Sit down, bromide!"

Jack stood still, mouth gaping.

"SIT. DOWN. BROMIDE."

Still motionless.

"'Out, damned spot! out, I say!' Macbeth, Act V, Scene I. Except the spot is you, and 'out' is THE COUCH. BROMIDE."

Jack dashed to the couch and sat down. The figure thanked him and began a dump of information.

"First off, I'm what's called a Kernelsprite. But I'm down with just 'Sprite', bromide. But we sprites are bloody useless if we don't get prototyped. That means ya chicken out and toss something at the poor thing in self-defense. Then it gets prototyped with that thing. So now I'm a DOUBLE WILLIAM. Isn't that cool, bromide? I think I'll go by 'Williamsprite' because that's just the mind-blowing-est thing ever, am I right? Anyway, now I know crap, in my 'mind's eye' as they say. Or as I say. Or as half u' me says. Or said. Anyways, now you're on your planet. I like to call it LoMaO. I'll tell ya why at some point, man. Anyway, now you have to kill things, and wake up on the moon, and level up, and maybe get to Skaia. Oh yeah, Skaia. It's basically this BIG IMPORTANT THING that makes stuff. Like universes, for example. And computer games. But mostly universes. There's a LOT of crap about Skaia, but hey, 'An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told' – King Richard III, Act IV, Scene IV. That means HURRY THE FRACK UP. Anyway, the other guys in the circle party have planets also. Ya get to them with those gates above your house. They're the weird spiro-sumin' things. Oh yeah, I know about the circle party, man. Classic. That lousy mind's eye!"

"Umm…sir?" Jack interrupted. "Pardon me, but what's LoMaO?"

"Just go outside, dumbarse bromide!" the Williamsprite blathered.

Jack ran to his bedroom window. Peering outside, he saw a few feet of his familiar backyard. It eventually broke off and gave way to a seemingly bottomless pit. The sky was grey and misty, with no stars or ending in sight. Jack backed away, and, for the second time in one day (impressive even for him), he gave out.

He woke up with a chill. It was a strange, almost living kind of chill that seems to sentiently run up and down your spine. His eyes were still closed, but he felt a blanket. He was clearly laying in a bed, but not his own.

Next came the headache. It was enough to make him grab at his head, struggling to open his drowsy eyes. It felt like he was being broken into reality after a very, VERY long sleep.

Finally he opened his eyes. He was in a dimly lit, reddish-purple bedroom on a purple bed. There were several windows from which tall purple towers and a pitch black sky were visible. He looked down, adjusting his glasses, and saw that he was wearing a one-piece, purple piece of clothing with a silver moon shape on it. He looked up again. He would have probably screamed again if he had the energy, but he just jolted. A person was standing across the room, flipping through charts and a notebook. He had dark brown, shaggy hair, striking blue eyes, and clothes identical to Jack's. He looked up and put down his notes. Suddenly Jack remembered the face, though slightly older, from a memorably strange Christmas e-card.

"Well now. I guess this trip wasn't a complete waste of time." Mark said with a smirk.

_**MARK VULIST: ENTER**_

culticCaptain [CC] began pestering timelyOverseer [TO].

CC: allo my dear madame!

CC: ha ha

CC: madame

TO: Why thank you.

CC: are you READY FOR THIS CRAP

TO: I can only assume.

TO: Tee hee.

CC: gud

CC: teehee is gud

CC: keep the teehees coming

CC: anyway, are you on

TO: Yes, it just loaded.

TO: Connecting right now.

CC: sweet

TO: Umm…

TO: Wow.

TO: The graphics are rather realistic.

CC: no that's actually me

TO: What?

CC: the guy with the uncombed shaggy hair writing a shipfic on his laptop

CC: that's me

CC: this is my room

TO: …

TO: Mark, is this a joke?

CC: no

CC: this game is real and stuff

CC: deploy everything

TO: Sorry, what? Deploy?

CC: SIGH

CC: DEEPEST SIGH

Mark proceeded to explain what Susan needed to do in his own poetic matter. This, in between writing his shipfic in another window, left no time, need, or desire to examine his room.

The sides of Mark's room were pure chaos. Not one wall was uncovered, not counting a window against which a large amount of rain was currently pounding. Three of his walls were simply posters. Nothing was welcome on his wall unless it had a cult following or a geeky fandom surrounding it. Cult camp classics, long-running TV shows, fascinatingly bad books and countless anime and manga posters polluted his chamber. In keeping with this, he was also a massive fan of Josh's games, and probably the only person on earth weirder then them.

He had a dresser and a closet, the dresser right next to his bed and filled with casual attire, the closet across the room, next to the door, and filled with meticulously perfected cosplay.

In contrast, his floor was mostly clean, though there was a lot of blank paper by his printer. Mark wrote almost non-stop, usually shipfics but not always. He also recently had acquired a drawing tablet, which allowed him to make some proper fanart. Unfortunately, he had no more room on his walls, and his sacred wall was not to be defiled. So he kept the pictures in digital form and uploaded them to one of his many personal blogs for shipping, fan fiction, and fanart.

The aforementioned "sacred wall" was the fourth wall in Mark's room. It was his shipping wall. All his favorite pairings were slathered on this wall. He personally hunted down the best fanart he could of each ship and placed it here.

CC: so then i put the round thing on the alchemiter

TO: Mark,

TO: what is this mess?

CC: what mess

TO: This one wall.

CC: that's my shipping wall

CC: didn't i mention i had one of those

TO: But

TO: I thought that was just one of your blogs.

CC: nope

CC: it got physical

TO: Is that…

TO: Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood?

CC: yes

CC: it was a close call between that and luna/draco

CC: or even potter/draco

TO: Didn't you say you didn't like slash?

CC: that was a joke

CC: anyway i have come to the conclusion that potter/lovegood is the best harry potter ship

CC: hence it's the only one on my wall

CC: also it's called pottgood

TO: Okay…

TO: So what's this Naruto/Soka thing?

CC: IT'S CALLED NARSOKA

CC: and it's the only good crossover ship

CC: i usually hate those things

CC: no respect for canon

TO: Fluttermac?

CC: two quiet souls clearly meant for each other

CC: also thanks for getting the name right

TO: I'm not sure what to call this one.

CC: which one

TO: Cato/Katniss?

CC: THEY ARE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER

CC: WHY CAN'T EVERYONE SEE IT

TO: …

CC: sorry

CC: i'm really passionate about that one

CC: anyway

CC: back to the game info

The rest of Mark's room was surprisingly empty, discounting a plethora of CDs and a CD player. There was a chunk of cult classic bands and musicals in there of course, but it was mostly classical. He often wrote his fan fiction to classical. It got his juices running and his gears turning, or at least that's what he would have everyone believe.

Mark finally got Susan to calm down and deploy everything in the main hallway of his house as he continued causally punching out the saucy details of Captain America and Black Widow's courtship.

TO: Okay…

TO: I think that's everything.

CC: susan

CC: you are literally

CC: ON A FRAPING ROLL

Mark saved his writing and ran to the main hall. He opened a box he left lying around on his coffee table. He opened it and pulled out a novelty scythe. He stroked it like a James Bond villain, reveling in his foresight.

TO: MARK

TO: Where did you get that scythe?

TO: Oh wait, you're not at the computer.

TO: Darn it.

TO: Wait…

TO: MARK

TO: theres a bunch of meteors outside!

TO: YOU DIDNT TELL ME ABOUT THIS!

Mark had already opened the Cruxtruder, releasing a lime green cylinder and floating ball. He grabbed the Pre-Punched Card, showing a picture of a pot, and put it into the Totem Lathe slot. He put the Totem on and, while it was being shaped, he ran back to his room. He looked under his bed and shoveled through until he pulled out a foam puppet. It was a plant in a pot, looking like a cross between an avocado and a Venus fly trap. He noticed Susan's messages.

CC: oh yeah when you're the client a meteor comes to your house

CC: hence the countdown

CC: plus i ordered a scythe from ebay

TO: WHY DIDN"T YOU TEEEEELLLL ME

TO: MARK YOUR GOING TO DIE  
>TO: YOUR GOING TO PERISH IN FIREY OBLIVIAN<p>

CC: chill

CC: HAHAHA GET IT  
>CC: BECAUSE THE METEOR IS HOT<p>

CC: YOU NEED TO CHILL

TO: THATS NOT FUNNY MARK

CC: i am a comedic genius

CC: funny/10

CC: anyway i wouldn't worry about that

CC: i just need to throw this audrey 2 puppet i got from clara at the ball

CC: and then make a pot apparently

CC: and then destroy it

CC: i didn't pay any attention to the countdown but i'm sure i have plenty of time

TO: MARK YOU HAVE LIKE THREE MINUTES

CC: oh

CC: thats

CC: different

CC: oh yeah before i go remember that drill that i asked you to put in your living room

CC: maybe use that to destroy a camera

CC: you'll understand in a minute

TO: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MARK

But Mark was already gone. He ran back to the main hall, bumping into the sprite on the way. He nonchalantly chucked the puppet in, causing a blinding flash that somewhat hindered the running away the immediately followed. He put the totem on the Alchemiter, which produced a small greenhouse made of lime crystal. It opened up and a pot fell out. Mark grabbed it, his scythe, and some rope which was also strangely lying around. He dashed up to the top floor of his house. He had neither a balcony nor an attic, so he ran to a guest room, pried open the window, and climbed out.

Hanging on the side of the wall he could, he pulled himself closer and closer to the roof. The sky was dark and cloudy, with a lot of rain slowing his ascent. He could tell that he only had about thirty seconds when he got to the roof.

He took and rope and tied the pot to the lightning rod. Then, not running away or panicking, he sat down and looked up. Soaked with rain and staring right at the uncomfortably close meteor, he mumbled, "The clouds better not have screwed up on this one."

Lightning struck.

_**SUSAN ADLER: ENTER**_

Susan stared at the white screen before her. She didn't have time to process Mark's lightning rod fiasco when she was messaged. Perhaps out of habit, or simply shock, she dropped what she was doing like it never happened and answered.

clockworkObserver [CO] began pestering timelyOverseer [TO].

CO: Susan, I have resolved to comply with this scheme of yours.

CO: I hope you will acquit me of any earlier disrespect of your intelligence I may have unintentionally paraded.

CO: Forgiveness, I believe, is the intellectual thing to do at this point.

CO: I recently overhauled my latest game project on the subject.

CO: Would you like me to send you a rough draft after we instigate this

CO: sphere celebration?

CO: Sorry, that was pretty atrocious, even for me.

TO:

TO:

TO:

TO:

CO: Is that…

CO: a yes?

TO: josh

TO: mark just got struck by lightning

CO: I fail to see the relevance.

TO: JOSH

TO: MARK JUST GOT STRUCK BY LIGHTNING

CO: So I gathered.

TO: JOSH

TO: MARK

TO: JUST  
>TO: GOT<p>

TO: STRUCK  
>TO: BY<br>TO: LIGHTNING

CO: Did he destroy something crystal-like?

TO: YES

TO: BUT WHO CARES MARKS DEAD

CO: If he destroyed his entry item he's probably admissibly alive.

TO: Wait

TO: What?

CO: Let's just say I know a thing or two from those walkthroughs.

CO: Anyway, you assisted his entry, right?

CO: I'll assist you with yours. Just do what he did.

TO:

TO: okay

Susan fell back in her chair, still hyperventilating. She turned her swivel chair around and looked at her room as Josh connected, taking in everything that had just happened. She hoped the familiar surroundings would somehow put her in an improved psychological state to process this new information.

The art neatly sorted on her walls was the same. Breathtaking landscapes of science fiction worlds, alien creatures and undreamt of technology clouded her daydreams and walls. Though she had no room for them on her walls (or at least not without making this an awful mess) she kept a neat box of science fiction movie posters on her dresser she flipped through from time to time. Across from her bed and dresser was her desk, swivel chair and laptop. On her desk were several cameras and video editing programs, as well as an orderly pile of competitive online games.

The cameras and editing programs were a bit of an obsession, admittedly. She had made around sixteen experimental films, and had shown most of them to no one but Josh (for his valuable insight) and Mark (because he was generally too oddly nice to her to outright make fun of her, even sarcastically). Most of them were made up of long shots of various objects and settings, with your own (heavily edited) narration explaining why this is the most beautiful thing to ever exist. Of course it was a parody (she hoped), but if anyone else got their hands on it, they just wouldn't understand. They were for private use and learning only.

CO: The loading has now consummated.

CO: Or something less awkward.

CO: Are you ready?

TO: …

TO: I guess.

CO: Don't worry, I'll walk you through.

And that's what he did. After deploying everything more or less in her room and immediately outside hall, Susan was on her way to opening the Cruxtruder, finding a purple ball and cylinder, taking a Pre-Punched card that had a picture of a purple camera and engraving the cylinder.

After a bit of urging from Josh, she grabbed the closest thing she could to prototype her sprite. It turned out to be a small prop of HAL 9000, which she never used for anything other than Halloween parties anyway. Since those parties were usually solitary, she could change up the décor without anyone complaining about blasphemous treatment of "tradition". She tossed it into the sprite. One flash later, a purple HAL ball was floating around.

She used the cylinder…

CO: Dowel.

TO: What?

CO: You keep referring to it as "the cylinder". It's called a dowel.

TO: Oh. Sorry.

TO: Also, Josh…

TO: Is there a meteor coming at my house?

CO: Susan, if I say no, you know that would be a betrayal of our trust.

CO: You know how the game works.

CO: On the other hand, if I say yes, you will slip into an irreconcilable fit of paranoia.

CO: Pick your poison.

TO: …

TO: I think

TO: I'll take no.

CO: No it is, then.

CO: Anyway, make that camera.

She used the dowel on the Alchemiter. The arm spun around, scanned, and a small purple movie set appeared, complete with a camera, director's chair, several lights and a podium. The camera fell at her feet.

Susan pulled a drill out of her drawer. Mark had requested a few days ago that she put one there. She had no idea why until he clarified a few minutes ago.

She looked out her window. A fiery ball of inferno was indeed flying at her house. Her immediate instinct was to panic, but for the sake of Josh not getting upset with her, she held it in. She prepared the drill. Her head shifted from the window to the camera several times as she wondered if this was really happening, and if it was, if she was doing the right thing. Her pent up hysteria pushed a few tears out.

She shut her eyes and violently thrust the drill into the camera.

_**MARK: EXPOSITE**_

"So, how was your entry? Smoother than mine, hopefully. Not saying mine wasn't the smoothest entry in the history of entries, but I don't mind being topped. So, do you like your tower? That was a trick question. You're stuck with it."

Jack was conscious enough at this point to pull the covers over himself in fear. Mark sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a bit more painful than he would have liked.

"Seriously Jack, don't you get it? The game is real and stuff. I didn't think it would take that long to sink in."

"How…" Jack dropped the covers a bit as he stuttered. His tone became angrier and more aggressive as he went on. "How…how do you know this? How long have you known it? Did you tell anyone else? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Look, Jack. All you need to tell me is if you get it."

Jack paused and looked down for a second. He slowly slipped back into his usual demeanor. "I…I…suppose? You toss something into a ball…pardon me, sprite…and make a disc, and play it, and then your house moves. Then you have to go to Spiro-summin' things . And I believe you're on a planet, or are going to a planet, named…LaMo I believe? I'm not quite sure I understand the larger significance."

"Okay, so you got that far. I guess I already knew that given that you were on Derse." Mark replied.

"Derse?"

"Yes. Dark planet. Didn't your sprite tell you about that?"

"He was a bit painful to listen too."

"Really? Mine is awesome. But anyway, do you know why you're here?"

It was a simple enough question. Mark reclined against the wall for a second as he watched Jack trying to rack his brain as to what the last thing he did before he woke up was. He was taken aback by a sudden flash of panic on Jack's face.

"Wait…Mark…ARE YOU SAYING I'M DEAD?!" Jack bellowed.

Mark sighed. "No, Jack, you aren't dead. You're asleep. And not in like a poetic way, where you're actually dead, just an honest-to-god, drowsy, slumbering, forty winks, dozing, dream-inducing nap."

Jack's face lost most of its panic, allowing Mark to feel safe in reclining again. "This is where you go when you sleep. Same with me, and I think Clara. That cloud was a bit fuzzy."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What cloud? Is this 'cloud' figurative? Is it your informant?"

"You could say that." Mark said. "Anyway, if my guesswork on Clara is right, then that means Josh, Laura and Susan are all on Prospit. That's the light planet. It's too far away to see from here, but I've visited it a few times. It sucks."

"Wait wait wait wait…how long have you been on…" Jack paused. "…what is this place called?"

"Derse." Mark replied, somewhat annoyed.

"Thank you. How long have you been on Derse?" Jack finished.

"A while. It's so relevant to you and so much of your business that it's maddening, but I don't feel like explaining." Mark said, a bit too quickly to register as proper sarcasm. "Anyway, there's these two planets and they don't like each other very much. Prospit is all golden and shiny and generally for wimps. They have pretty good tea though. You've seen Derse already. Dark, purple, full of jerks, awful celebrity gossip. The coffee makes up for it though. Seriously, try some. There's a good vender in the bazaar. Anyway, there's like a bunch of different versions of these planets. They're the same planets, but the stuff that happens is different and stuff. Every session has its own version, and this is ours, because OVBS. All the players get divided up evenly between the two planets, because teamwork is for losers. Whenever you sleep, you wake up on your planet, and vise-versa. It's sort of like an extra life if you do something _special_. Also, these planets are going to get into a huge war at some point, and Prospit always loses in every session. A lot of things are like that thanks to Skaia."

"And that would be…" Jack said after a brief pause.

"OH MAH GAWSH JACK, DIDN'T YOUR SPRITE TELL YOU ANYTHING?" Mark snapped. "It's this giant god ball. There are these clouds in it…" he held up some of his charts. "…and they show stuff, like the future. That's how I know like a million more things than the rest of you."

Jack just stared at Mark. Mark sighed and put away his charts.

"Look, I have more stuff to do. People more articulate than me will probably figure everything out for you. I'm really not the best motivator. Or exspositer, if that's even a word."

He suddenly began levitating, and flew towards the window. "See you around, miserable coward." He dashed away laughing like crazy. "HA HA HA! GET IT! BECAUSE JOSH! HA HA HA!"

After a few loops and tricks through the air of the purple city, he made his way to another tower. He entered through the window and flawlessly swopped into the bed.

His living room came back into focus after a few minutes. He yawned, stretched, and hopped off the couch. He still had the scythe crudely taped to his side. He only walked a few feet before he became conscious of the sneaky footsteps behind him. That could only be his sprite or trouble at this point. Then he remembered good ol' Amadeusprite didn't have feet. He quickly grabbed the scythe from his side and swung it around.

In the few moments before it exploded into blue crystals of various sizes, he caught a glimpse of whose face he just dug a blade into. It was a green, mossy imp of sorts, hunched over with claw-like hands, slanted eyes of pure white and a nasty set of teeth. It was wearing a black leather getup lined with purple and red velvet on the inside visible through various slits. It let out a bizarre, high pitched scream as it died.

Mark ran around the room towards the crystals, picking them up. All he needed to do was make physical contact and they disappeared. He was pretty sure this meant they were abstractly added to Laura's grist count. He walked back to his room.

He jumped on his bed and starred out his window. All he could see for miles was a nebulae covered night sky and the tips of green, mossy mountains. Occasionally, he would see the starting point of glowing, white rivers, like streams of pure light. Most of the bottom was blocked by thick colorful clouds, but he could tell his house was now on a giant pillar sticking in the highest part of a planet's atmosphere.

Suddenly, his computer chimed. It caught him off guard, he didn't know he still had power and an internet connection out here. He quickly ran over and answered.

momentHunter [MH] began pestering culticCaptain [CC].

MH: Umm…

MH: Vulist?

CC: sup gurl

MH: I'll ignore my better judgment and dismiss that.

MH: Vulist, I'm told you know more about this game then us.

MH: Me and Clara have been playing around in this game and pooling our knowledge with Susan's once we got a hold of her. We still haven't gotten hold of Jack or that idiot Zeno.

MH: Clara has gotten a bit more insight from her sprite, but…this game.

MH: It seriously worries me. Maybe Susan was right after all.

MH: I suppose I have to play at this point, since the millions of people playing this game today are apparently destroying the world with meteors, one house at a time.

MH: But…

MH: I guess what I'm saying is that I've been surprised enough today.

MH: I don't want any more surprises.

MH: So…

MH: Mark.

MH: Can you please help me?

CC: wow

CC: those were some words

CC: but yeah okay i'm down with that

CC: what do you need to know

MH: Well…

MH: These black-robed imps keep attacking Clara.

MH: They drop grist, but are still a pain to kill.

MH: Her weird Ramin Karimloo/Violin Sprite told her to "alchemize" a new weapon.

MH: She's using a crappy novelty crossbow at the moment.

MH: How would she go about getting something better?

CC: Well, do you have the punch designex?

MH: No. I remember seeing it in the stuff I could deploy, though.

CC: Deploy it.

CC: It makes stuff into cards.

CC: Then you shove two cards into the totem lathe.

CC: Get a new dowel out of the Cruxtruder, and I think you know what to do from there.

MH: Wow Mark, you have managed to shed your awfulness.

CC: OMGEE LAURA

CC: HOWS GOOD OL RAMIN NOODLE SPRITE

CC: DOES HE SING

MH: Bleh.

MH: Spoke too soon.

CC: bu srsly

CC: how's this game so far

CC: i wub it

MH: It's…

MH: A bit daunting.

CC: and you havn't even gotten on your planet yet

CC: my sprite called mine LoRaN

CC: exact words

MH: Well, a certain server player of mine hasn't let me enter.

CC: OH MAH GRASH M'LADY

CC: IM SO SORRY

CC: ya wanna enter

CC: i'll make it quick

MH: Why does that sound

MH: wrong?

CC: That's your fault, you sicko!

MH: Is correct typing your new way of messing with me?

CC: SURE AS FRACK NO

MH: Vulist, why do I even bother?

MH: Can you tell me that?

CC: nope

CC: but I don't have much to do

CC: besides EVERYTHING

CC: do you wanna play a game

MH: …

MH: I guess.

MH: I suppose there's no avoiding it.

CC: sweet

CC: let's do some BIZNASTY ENTRIES YO

MH: Vulist.

MH: I really hate you.

**END OF ACT 2**

**AN: DUN DUN DUN!**

**No but seriously, that was fun. The next Act will be fun too (at least to write), but it will take a lot longer. As a tradeoff, it will be a lot longer. COMMENCE FANGAPASUE!**


	4. Act 3: The Pieces are set on the Stage

_**LAURA: ENTER**_

CC: oh gawg no

CC: laura that is so lame

CC: you're wasting your sprite

CC: your wonderful lemon-lime sprite

MH: I don't care.

MH: If Clara can prototype her crappy fanart, I can too.

MH: Why did I even discuss this with you?

CC: i'm smart

CC: there's that

MH: Screw you, Vulist.

Laura ran back to her balcony, where a few obnoxiously large machines were currently residing, along with an open Cruxtruder, a red Dowel, and a red Sprite, circular and ready to be prototyped. She tossed a drawing of her favorite street judge, Moment Hunter, into the ball. A flash predictably followed.

When her eyes readjusted, the stern gaze of a ghostly red figure in a pirate-like fantasy gettup greeted her. She knew it couldn't communicate at this point, so she didn't try. She just ran over to her newly carved cylinder, which she readily placed on the Alchemiter. She almost tripped walking over to it, because her porch lights were dim and it was a mostly dark night. There was a few hundred meteors polluting the sky, one clearly coming towards her, but oddly enough it didn't do the wonders for lighting up her porch she expected it to.

One swung arm and red mass reshaping later, there was a bookshelf on the Alchemiter. Unfortunately for Laura, nothing happened afterward. She waited a good two minutes for one of the books to fall off like Mark predicted it would (the entry item on her Pre-Punched Card was a red book, after all). She ran franticly back to her room, almost being blinded by immediately returning to a well-lit house. Thankfully, her room was only a few rooms down from the balcony.

MH: VULIST, YOU WERE WRONG.

MH: WHICH ONE OF THESE BOOKS AM I SUPPOSED TO SMASH OR BURN OR ELECTROCUTE OR WHATEVER?

CC: calm down gurl

CC: HA HA  
>CC: GET IT<p>

CC: CALM DOWN

MH: …

MH: No.

CC: well you see

CC: most people

CC: if they were about to get blown up i mean

CC: wouldn't calm down

CC: SO I TOLD YOU TO CALM DOWN

CC: MASTER FUNNY

MH: Vulist, for some reason I can't work up the animosity I usually can for you right now.

MH: So can I just get some honest-to-God help?

CC: well the card had a book on it right

CC: do you have some sort of smashy thing

MH: I have a hammer.

CC: just lying around

CC: wow you're weird

CC: but anyway just smash all the books until one takes you to LoSaS

CC: that's land of something and something for lame-ans

MH: Wait, that's what the weird abbreviations are?

CC: yeah

CC: mine is LoRaN

CC: my sprite told me

MH: Huh.

MH: Anyway, how much time do I have?

CC: like five minutes

MH: WHAT

Laura didn't even take into consideration that Mark might have been kidding. She ran down a hall and a turn to grab her hammer from a storage closet, and then retraced her steps back to her balcony. The meteor seemed even closer in her state of disconnected frenzy. She simply grabbed one of the books off the three yard high bookshelf and repeatedly smashed it in a conniption-worthy display. Realizing it wasn't going to break anytime soon, she grabbed another book and did the same. Her hysteria steadily increased as she grabbed the next book, and then the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next. Her porch also became gradually redder as the blazing sphere gradually approached.

As she almost autonomously grabbed and smacked the next six books, resentment boiled up inside of her. She didn't know what it was directed at. She couldn't blame Mark, but maybe she was just resentful of him out of habit. She didn't know who she could possibly blame for the game's existence, and it would be completely pointless to point fingers at the meteor for ruining her life. She refused to think that this strange anger was anything other than completely justified, but she didn't know how.

Then it dawned on her that it wasn't anger, it was misery.

Everything that was happening hadn't completely sunk in with her until now. She felt like she was going along with it like it was a dream. It was at this moment when all illusion snapped. Her house was going to be lifted off the face of the earth and taken to another universe, where she would fight monsters and be in constant danger. Meanwhile, the world would be completely wiped out. Reduced to ashes. Consumed in fire. Pounded into submission. Every place she had ever been even remotely acquainted with would be either wiped out or scathed by meteors. This would be the last she would see of a planet she had spent fifteen years on.

She was, perhaps, the first of her friends to have this mental shattering happen to her. Jack just took it like a complete coward from what Clara told her, Clara was too preoccupied with saving Jack, she had no idea what Josh was doing, and Mark was…well, Mark. Susan might have taken it in, but problems of her own invention always seemed to matter more to her then a more in-your-face one.

She suddenly lost all thought and adrenaline, as if her body was trying to tell her that just dying here on the balcony would be a better fate then whatever horrors the game would offer her. She looked briefly at the now imminent meteor, and then looked down, at a book where her limp arm had dropped the hammer.

There was a small crack in it.

With her energy rushing back, she grabbed the hammer and brought it down, shattering the book.

_GIRL._

_YOU THERE. GIRL._

_WITH THE BLONDE HAIR._

_THE ONE WHO ALMOST KILLED ME._

_WAKE UP ALREADY._

_GIRL YOU'VE BEEN LYING THERE FOR A MILLION YEARS._

_GIRL, CEASE THIS FOOLISHNESS._

_FINE THEN, WHAT'S YOUR NAME._

_GIRL, TELL ME YOUR NAME._

_GIRL, CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME._

_FINE._

_SLYPH._

_THERE, I SAID IT._

_YOU THERE, SLYPH._

_WAKE UP ALREADY._

Laura woke up on her balcony with a headache. She forced her eyes open as she awkwardly squirmed into some state resembling standing up. Her head was tilted back when her vision fully came back. She was staring at an inferno.

Immediately she jolted, falling on her back. It took her a few seconds to realize that she wasn't seeing a meteor, she was seeing the sky.

An orange, red, burning sky with many wispy clouds. It spread in all directions, with no end in sight. As she stood up, she was able to see that her house was in a similar position to Clara's, but on a giant stone pillar instead of a cloud. The clouds became much thicker below her house, so she couldn't see the surface of whatever planet this pillar was sticking out of, but this was to be expected.

She decided to go back to her room. She walked slowly, as if to revel in the fact she didn't have a time limit anymore. And to keep Mark waiting, of course. She didn't know how much she had to push him to get him to snap because, though she had done it many times in the past, the breaking point seemed random.

Back in her room, her MomentHuntersprite had now graduated from ball form to ghost form. She knew she could prototype something else, but she couldn't think what. She shrugged and just went to the computer.

CC: oh mah gorsh lady

CC: you are taking a million years

MH: Well, I'm here now, aren't I?

CC: anyway

CC: now what

MH: I thought you knew!

MH: Why do you think I continue talking to you?

CC: well when I got to my planet i just protoyped my sprite again

CC: and fell asleep to talk to jack

MH: Sorry, what?

CC: Oh yeah when you fall asleep you wake up on one of two planets

CC: There's a dark one and a light one.

CC: I think you're on the light one, Prospit.

MH: Well, that's completely normal of you, Vulist.

CC: EYE NO, WRITE?

MH: Anyway, what else have you done?

CC: well

CC: uh

CC: nothing actually

CC: i'm not sure where to go from here

CC: well i mean i SHOULD be going to the gate above my house

CC: but i have no idea where susan is

MH: I think I can get a hold of her.

MH: Wait, what am I saying?

MH: Sorry Vulist, I'm not doing any favors for you!

MH: Get her yourself.

CC: but i need a mediator

CC: because you see

CC: i'm madly in love with her

MH: Vulist, you can't have human emotions.

MH: We've established that.

CC: yeah

CC: you're probably write

CC: hire what r u doihn

MH: WHAT THE CRAP IS A HIRE?!

CC: woah did i just type that

CC: sorry i blank out for a second

CC: hair i meEaana haEr

MH: Vulist, we know you can at least spell.

CC: okay i swear i'm not typing that

MH: Well, you did.

CC: no it's like

CC: aiRr wugt ther hevk

CC: HOLY CRAP WHAT TO HECK IS GOING ON?!

CC: *the

MH: Vulist, your ability to mess with me has depleted significantly.

MH: I don't know why I still hate you to be honest.

MH: Just make a bridge to my gate.

MH: Severs can do things like that.

CC: HIER DNOT LSTEN 2 HE SLPHYH

MH: Wait, do you mean Sylph?

CC: Laura, I swear, I have NO IDEA where that's coming from!

CC: My thoughts feel confused or something.

MH: I had some weird voices in my head after I entered.

MH: Or maybe it was just once voice?

MH: It called me a sylph.

CC: IZ da splhy toking abouttt the cunvuct

CC: Look, Laura.

CC: You know this is below even me.

CC: Can you just believe me for a second.

MH: Allow me to link you to the TV Tropes page for "Master Manipulator".

MH: Still, keep tabs on that voice if it's really a voice somehow.

MH: There's something rather odd about it.

MH: Besides the obvious.

MH: Also, deploy the Punch thing.

CC: kay gurl

CC: nover mound he slpyh is ruther aatttrsacteve

CC: oh my gosh that better not have meant attractive

MH: We can only hope.

_**YEARS IN THE FUTURE…**_

But not many, if we're keeping count…

A Cryptic Amputee has found a giant pot.

It was metallic, about fifty feet tall, with a huge hole in the side, jutting out seemingly just to break the monotony of the endless desert. Next to it was a giant book with much the same dimensions and material, mostly buried in the sand. They were in a valley of sorts, at the lowest point of a descending pit. From the highest point, another valley could be seen past the giant wall of sand at the end of this one, like a canyon that had been cut in half.

He had been trudging silently with a compatriot, but had been left in the dust when these two landmarks came in sight. His companion dashed with more energy than the he could bother to muster. When his companion, the Treading Convict, made it to the end of the valley, he had gone through a door in the book. Since he had finally caught up, he considered following him inside, but he decided to examine the hole in the pot instead. The hole was rough and small, but he was still able to squeeze through.

He took some of the faded green bandages off his head, allowing the newfound cool, clear air to wash over his black, sun-weary, carapace cranium. He had been wandering in the desert for who-knows-how-long now, and the relief was overwhelming.

He struggled to take the rags off his sweltering left arm as well, but seeing as how it was the only arm he had to work with, it took longer than it should have. Finally throwing those to the side, he grabbed the tatters off the stub that was his right shoulder as well. He finally examined the interior.

It was also metallic, but inexplicably not hot. There were stray cords and oil spills everywhere, along with several circuit boxes along the sides of the wall. What was immediately striking one, however, was the one piece of apparently working machinery in the entire mess: a computer with a keyboard and six screens.

Only one of the screens was on, flickering in a clear state of disrepair. It showed a strange boy with messy, shaggy black hair and striking green eyes staring at a computer, twiddling his thumbs. He had a black scythe stuck in his belt with some tape, and was wearing torn jeans with a green shirt. The amputee had never seen clothes like this on Derse, or even on Prospit. Something about the boy seemed vaguely familiar, but he could have sworn he was different from any memory he had, or thought he might have had.

He only now noticed the command prompt and keyboard. He knew that any attempts he made to type would be a struggle with only one arm, but he tried anyway.

_boy_

_yoiu ther_

_ boty_

No response, but the boy did look up suddenly, as if he heard something. He quickly disregarded it and looked back down.

The amputee paced around furiously, occasionally tripping over wires and struggling to get up. He racked his brain for five minutes trying to remember who this boy was.

Suddenly, he remembered. He ran back to the computer.

_hire_

_yoouy thre_

_hrei_

The boy seemed to take notice, but looked down again. His face suddenly lit up as he began typing furiously, chuckling to himself all the while.

The amputee tried again.

_hire what r u doihn_

_hair i meEaana haEr_

This time he got a look of confusion and frustration, which he thought was good.

Suddenly, another screen flickered on for a second. It showed a blonde haired, brown eyed girl, also typing on a computer. It occurred to the amputee that they were communicating. Something about the girl seemed familiar too.

Then the screen became sharper, and the amputee clearly saw her. His blank white eyes widened in his carapace shell of a face. Why was the heir talking to HER? The screen blanked out again.

The amputee went to a flurry of typing, getting reactions that ranged from frustration to panic.

_aiRr wugt ther hevk_

_HIER DNOT LSTEN 2 HE SLPHYH_

The boy's screen sharpened, and he was able to read what they were typing.

MH: I had some weird voices in my head after I entered.

MH: Or maybe it was just once voice?

MH: It called me a sylph.

His memories turned to his compatriot.

_IZ da splhy toking abouttt the cunvuct_

Suddenly he kind of felt bad about the girl having to deal with the convict. He decided to compensate.

_nover mound he slpyh is ruther aatttrsacteve_

He was going to type more when he heard a huge crash. The ground rumbled for several minutes as what sounded like boulders fell and smashed on the ground.

He quickly threw whatever bandages he could back on his arm, elbow and head and ran back outside. The sudden sweltering caused him to stagger and cover his face, but eventually he lowered his hand and his eyes adjusted to the light.

He was then face to face with a giant disc that had smashed the dividing wall between the two valleys. Sand had tumbled down and built up, making a huge mess.

It was a miracle that the door in the book and hole in the pot weren't buried. The convict had quickly emerged from the book, carrying several strange cans. He too looked like he had taken some of his red uniform off and put it back on in a hurry. They made eye contact; both looked at the disc, and ran up. The center opened, and a Prospitian stumbled out. They stopped running at this.

She was wearing a faded, ripped, blue prison uniform, but otherwise was a pretty normal Prospitian; exactly like a Dersite, but white instead of black with black eyes instead of white.

The Amputee was inclined to bring up old prejudges, but realized that there was no point because the war was like a million years ago. They were all stuck on this desert together. He started running again.

She stopped staggering for a second, enough time to see him approach. Her eyes widened a bit. He thought she was probably frightened or suspicious of him, so he was taken completely off guard when her eyes beamed (however that's possible) and she quickly extended a hand. He faltered a bit, as if he expected her to have a dagger. She looked a bit confused, so to remedy it he quickly extended his singular hand for a hearty shake.

Diplomacy at its finest. He was wondering what it was that made him so trust-able. Perhaps it was sympathy for his arm, or his (almost) unwavering commitment to walk up to her. Maybe his good looks had outlasted all the wear and tear of the desert. Maybe he…

Suddenly her eyes filled with rage (again, however that's possible) and she lunged to the side of him. The amputee turned around and saw her and the convict tumbling down the small hill that the crash had left behind. He ran down after them, trying to see if his inexplicable diplomacy would work a second time, but was distracted when he saw one of the purple cans that the convict had dropped sticking out of the sand. He picked it up. On the side three giant white letters were printed: TAB. He had no idea what this meant.

He suddenly felt inclined to turn around. He didn't know why, but after he clearly heard some scurrying on the top of the hill he couldn't resist. On top of the hill were two more Prospitians.

It seems there were far more people in this desert then he thought.

_**JOSH: ENTER**_

clockworkObserver [CO] began pestering deferentialCriminologist [DC].

CO: Well now, you incompetent contributor.

CO: You appear to be finally online.

CO: How have you gleefully misused our valuable time?

CO: Or, I suppose, MY valuable time?

DC:

DC:

DC:

DC:

DC: coping

CO: Yes, that seems about satisfactory.

CO: Well, are you read to connect?

DC: Josh…

DC: are you aware of the…

DC: nature of this game?

CO: You mean the matter of it taking you to another universe and decimating your home?

CO: Yes, I gleamed that.

DC: Oh.

DC: Was it Mark that told you?

CO: No, I've drawn it from the walkthroughs.

CO: Weeks ago, honestly.

DC: Wait…

DC: YOU'VE KNOWN FOR WEEKS?

DC: Why didn't you tell me?

DC: Why didn't you tell US?!

DC: Why would you withhold such information?

DC: That's not very cooperative of you, Josh!

DC: And now we could all be in danger because of this game!

DC: AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!

CO: Now, Jack.

CO: I simply withheld this information for my own personal reasons.

CO: Many of which someone of your caliber simply wouldn't understand or accept.

CO: Now if you excuse me, we have to connect.

DC: WHY?  
>DC: WHY SHOULD I HELP YOU?<p>

DC: You are nothing short of a boorish, conniving cur, Josh!

DC: You've probably jeopardized all of us!

CO: Jack, this is completely unreasonable of you.

CO: You cannot presuppose even me to be able to rationalize this to someone like you.

DC: I'm not connecting.

DC: I'm sorry, but I just don't see why I should!

CO: Where is your civility, you barbarian?!

CO: Don't you see we're ALL shackled to this game by fate?

CO: We must ALL play, or face certain disaster!

DC: I thought you said that the "circle party" was a certain disaster!

CO: I WAS INEXPLICABLY MISINFORMED, GRAIL.

CO: The white text apparition guaranteed this!

DC: wait

DC: Who?

CO: What do you mean wh

CO: oh

CO: Sorry, dismiss that from your mind.

DC: Wait, who…

DC: If you don't mind my asking of course…

CO: I very much do, miserable coward.

DC: …is this "apparition"?

CO: Another thing you wouldn't understand.

DC: Mister Zeno, I find that hard to believe.

DC: Is this relating to another acquaintance on Pesterchum?

DC: Or perhaps a walkthrough author?

CO: That's of no relevance to you.

DC: He seems to have done more to change your mind about playing this game more than I could ever had hoped to.

DC: I would like to meet this incredible diplomat.

DC: I don't suppose we could have a subdued discussion about this?

CO: No.

CO: Connect.

DC: Very well.

Josh fumed as the game loaded. There was no reason to put up with this tomfoolery, he was above that. He tried to divert his thoughts, but nagging doubts pulled on the back of his mind, right behind the annoyance.

He pondered why he trusted this white text…thing. But as he had no other options, he decided to cope.

The game loaded, and several not-entirely noteworthy things happened. Giant machines were deployed; an orange dowel and ball were released. A complete volume of Lord of the Rings was thrown into the latter, causing a wizard ball to float around. He wasn't sure why whatever supreme intelligence placed over sprites had chosen Gandalf specifically, but it would probably more helpful then a flying book. A card with a computer was taken, a dowel carved and scanned, and a little orange office made, complete with coffee mugs, potted plants and scattered folders.

The timer had ticked down to two minutes. He jumped on the Alchemiter platform where the office rested and sat down in the swivel chair. Only now did he realize that crystal isn't the most comfortable seat. But the card showed a computer, so that's what had to go. He had a hiking stick he bought from an antique shop on his side, but somehow he thought this wasn't how to destroy it. There was a flashing command prompt on the screen. There probably wouldn't be a functioning prompt if it wasn't meant to be used, so…

Suddenly, he had an epiphany. He sorted through his vast programming knowledge in his mind-palace, and typed a single line from a long-forgotten language.

What was it? Even he couldn't remember afterwards, but at least the computer exploded.

_**CLARA: ASCEND**_

The last thing Clara remembered was jumping into a spirograph shape on a makeshift bridge.

The first thing that her senses picked up was the voices.

Strange, high, melodic voices, singing non-words in perfect harmony. They were strange enough to be striking but quiet enough to blend into the background and be ignored.

She slowly opened her eyes. She was standing straight up and looking down, which was a surreal position to wake up from. She was closely clutching her crossbow, which she had cleverly combined with a broken clarinet earlier. The resulting weapon quite pleased her in appearance, but she hadn't actually tested it yet.

She was also looking at grass of a bright, twisty, otherworldly sort. She looked up to take in more. The sky was radiant and shimmering despite there being no sun or any light source visible anywhere. Clouds of pure white were everywhere. Eventually, some of the clouds clumped together into huge islands, very close to one another, lightly frosted on top with the strange grass. To break the monotony, there were twisty, bendy trees on some of the islands, as well as uneven patches of cloud that gave the illusion of hills. These islands were sparse, and the whole landscape had an open feel to it.

Only now did she think to inhale, as the whole sight was intoxicating in a way that made you forget small things like breathing. Pure, fresh air filled her lungs. It was the kind of undefiled air gardeners and overall outdoorsmen like her relished. Suddenly, she was intoxicated just with breathing. This went on for about half a minute until she heard a rustle, which made her quickly turn around.

There didn't appear to be any living beings in sight, but Clara put her crossbow at the ready. She had seen some pretty weird stuff today, including some Ramin-looking imps, so she didn't know what kind of trouble, if any, she could expect. Though this was technically the weirdest thing she'd seen yet, it somehow seemed to have less of an impact, probably because she was expecting this crazy day to continually try to one-up itself.

Jeez, was this still today? This morning seemed like years ago.

Clara strolled to the tree were the rustle came from, examining its obnoxiously bright green leaves. There were a few layers of branches but nothing in them. She shrugged it off and turned around.

She saw another island across the one she was on, slowly creeping by, as if on the light breeze. It looked close enough to be safe. Clara ran with inexplicable haste and gave a small leap from the edge, clearing the four-foot gap. To the right, she saw another island in a similar position, which she also ran and leapt to. Something about the air gave her a surge of energy she felt the need to expend. One thing lead to another, and soon she was hoping from cloud to cloud, rather carefree.

She became smugly self-aware of what this must look like, and completed the contrived scenario by humming an unrecognizable medley of Broadway songs.

It just became a strange, idyllic pattern for the next few minutes as she hopped from cloud to cloud. Soon she had no idea where she had come from or where she had been, but it didn't matter much to her as long as she could keep feeling the light breeze while prancing through the apparently imp-less clouds.

Of course, this illusion was immediately shattered as soon as this thought cross her brain. She had somehow ended up behind a tree in the back of a small island, hiding her from the events taking place immediately in from of her.

These events involved imps. They also involved small pink dragons.

Quite literally. They were barely three feet tall, with maybe a four foot wingspan. They weren't exactly traditional dragons; they were more like plush toys, with exaggerated facial features and soft-looking scales. Four of these creatures were being accosted by about ten imps, which was more than the five or six Clara had encountered individually around her house, but if there was any lapse in confidence Clara acted so fast she didn't have time to process it.

It was now that she discovered by giving the trigger on her crossbow a light pull, it physically emitted a string of notes, strung together by bars and measures. It was almost comical, but then again, so was everything else. The notes, along with producing a series of light tones, melted into the back of one of the imps, causing him to flash with every hit. Soon he exploded into grist. This didn't go unnoticed by the other imps, who quickly turned their attention to Clara. One was stupid enough to leap forward and got destroyed in midair. The remaining at or so charged Clara en masse, but all but three were clarineted to death before they reached her. One of these three got a proper jump on her, knocking her down and holding her head off the edge. The other imps just assumed that was enough and didn't bother getting closer. These imps were clearly not smart creatures. Clara struggled with the imp on top of her for a bit but eventually she was able to get a good grab on him and throw him behind her, causing him to plummet to his assumed death. The other two imps seemed shocked that their conspirator's obviously flawless and foolproof attack didn't result in Clara's demise. This gave Clara a chance to quickly reduce them to spoils.

With the cost finally clear, Clara turned her attention to the dragons, who had been watching in awe. Well, except one who seemed only partly amused.

She didn't really know what to do with them, or even whether to treat them as animals or sentient beings. Thankfully, this was answered for her as a small one stepped forward and spoke.

"Are you The Rouge, miss?"

Clara had no idea what to make of this, but she wouldn't be required to as the silence was broken yet again, this time from the unenthusiastic one.

"Of course not, idiot. The Rouge wears orange and yellow and stuff. Everyone knows that. Also she just got jumped by a weakling imp. That would never happen to The Rouge."

All the other dragons shot glares at him, ranging from mild irritation to potential murder material.

He shrugged and looked directly at Clara. "Sorry that these know-nothings had to be here. You know how it goes."

At this point he was slapped by the dragon directly adjacent to him. She followed with a retort. "It was a simple, honest question. Don't put down the poor boy, he's just learning the legends and lore. It's not too unreasonable for a Consort of his age to assume that a new, strange visitor is a subject of legend." She looked at Clara. "Thank you so much, we owe you hugely. Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Who's The Rouge?" Clara asked, as if the last statement eluded her.

The less-then-enthusiastic dragon groaned and clawed at his face. "You mean to tell me that we've been rescued by some weird creature that doesn't even know basic LoCaV lore?"

"Well, I did just get here. Also, what's LoCaV?" Clara responded. At this, even the other dragons gained skeptical looks.

"Is it that hard to believe that I just know nothing about this place?" Clara said, her patience wearing thin. The female dragon from before shook herself a bit before responding. "No, not if you just got here! It's not unreasonable at all! Is it?" She glared a bit at the other dragons, which shook their heads, with one obvious exception.

She cleared her throat. "LoCaV is just a silly abbreviation we Consorts use for this planet, the Land of Clouds and Voices. The Rouge is a legendary figure of myth that will rise up at some undisclosed time and find the source of The Voices."

It was only after this exchange that Clara even noticed the voices again. They blended into the scenery seamlessly.

"Okay, thanks! My name is Clara, and I really don't know what I'm doing here. I was playing this game with some friends and now there's imps and gates and weird clouds. Oh, and adorable dragons!"

"CONSORTS. I am so offended. Why are you so racist?" was the almost immediate reply of the fan favorite.

"Yeah, consorts. Sorry." Clara quickly clarified.

"Don't worry about it, it's not racist." said another Consort who had been silent until now. "Hey, would you like to come stay at our village? We don't get non-Carapace visitors very often, and if you just got here I'm assuming you don't have a place of residence."

"Well, I kind of do, but I don't know how to get back to it. So where's your village?"

"Just follow us. We can usually find it in less than an hour, but you never know with these clouds." said the female Consort.

And thus, Clara happily pranced through clouds with pink dragons. It was like her entire life had been leading up to the moment where she could say that honestly.

_**HOURS IN THE PAST…**_

But not so many as to beunreasonable…

An apparition of white text contacts a frustrated piece.

[?] began pestering clockworkObserver [CO].

Hello again.

It's been too long since we last tried to out-meta each other.

CO: Gah.

CO: Why do you persist in this futile endeavor?

CO: I don't have any confidence, assurance, trust, or credence in your claims about this game.

You are referring to all the claims that turned out to be 100% correct?

CO: Those are precisely the ones.

Okay, how about this?

I do more of that creepy mind reading you love so much, and you react pretending not to be fazed.

CO: Are you trying to give me a humorous summery of every exchange we've ever had?

CO: If so, it failed to be amusing.

How about me knowing that you're trying to get out of playing a game of which you never received a copy?

CO: Are you even trying to structure a coherent thought in any of this?

What if I told you that I was the reason why you never got your copy?

And that you are doomed to never play the game?

Or at least, not in its normal state.

You're special, Josh.

Not to me, of course. And not to anyone else.

Just to a pair of die. Or a stack of cards. Or lots. Or various other devices symbolizing luck and fate.

You probably won't do anything impressive or remarkable other then what the game will lead to upon victory, and that's assuming you win.

But the universe likes you.

Skaia likes you.

You've always been superficially wise beyond your years.

All while lacking common sense or tact.

Basically, we are just alike!

CO: You've given me this same oration so many times before it's not even funny.

CO: What could you possibly tack onto this nonsense about meaningless fate?

I'm going to send you a file.

It's the game.

It will change nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it does contain some tailor-made modifications for your personal adventure.

CO: And why should I trust this file?

Because you want to play this game.

You want to badly.

It pains you to have to come up with nonsense to ward off your friend.

Also, you lack common sense and tact.

Have I mentioned that yet?

CO: That's a wonderful way to make me abandon all my gut feelings and just agree to your stupidity.

Also, you'll never tell her you were susceptible to something as lowly as a mistake in the parcel system.

Watching you play this game will be an unmitigated pleasure, Mr. Zeno.

I can hardly wait.

CO: Wonderful, you're a stalker.

CO: I should have guessed as much.

Oh yes, one more thing.

Do you remember StalkSpeak?

CO: That unworkable programming language made for purely satirical purposes?

CO: I mastered it.

Execpt one little function.

CO: Is that so?

Tsrif_naidruag= .physical

Just us it once, though. It has a way of slipping the mind.

Goodbye, Mr. Zeno.

[?] ceased pesertering clockworkObserver [CO].

**END OF ACT 3**

**AN: So I lied, this is actually the shortest act yet. Oops.**

**But I am having more time to write, which is good.**

**Gaps will still be several month periods, but I hope this act suffices. Gotta work on that narration, though...**


End file.
